


50 Shades of Grey

by Marzos



Category: Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6038536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzos/pseuds/Marzos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone sees in color until they kiss their soulmate; then their entire world turns black and white. </p><p>Laura goes to an art gallery opening to interview Carmilla Karnstein, an artist famous for her gorgeous watercolor paintings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	50 Shades of Grey

It was always Laura’s job to cover the gallery openings. She didn’t _like_ being single, but she made the best out of it, even getting a little column in the newspaper. Laura had never considered herself an art critic, but she was the youngest on a staff of mostly married men and women. She offered a perspective on art that they were literally incapable of providing. Anyone else who could have were already running their own columns, or just plain didn’t want to. Laura was the youngest, the job fell to her.

 

Not what she thought she’d be doing as a reporter, but hey, it paid the bills.

 

This particular gallery opening was in downtown. There was a new up-and-coming artist that was getting their own special showcase. Laura was kind of excited. She’d never interviewed a celebrity before, and apparently this ‘Carmilla Karnstein’ had taken over the art world pretty rapidly.

 

Laura tucked a pencil behind her ear, stuck a little book in her pocket, and got ready to start her tape recorder. She found it easier to talk first; the ideas would come too fast to write down. Plus, it gave her a cramp. She could listen to what she said on the subway ride home and get started on putting it to paper then.

 

“On a warm March evening I traveled downtown to attend the opening of the Lustig Art Gallery, which is showing the work of Carmilla Karnstein as its first exhibition,” Laura recited to the tape recorder as she walked in. It was all very fancy; Laura felt sorely underdressed in her button down shirt and slacks. She bit her lip and tried not to bring attention to herself as she worked through the crowd. It was mostly young people, unsurprisingly; why would someone with a soulmate want to see colorful paintings? They wouldn’t get anything out of it.

 

She stopped in front of one, only titled ‘The Couple’. It was a portrait of two faces, locked in a screaming match:  one man and one woman. Their faces were contorted in anger, detailed down to the smallest wrinkles on their faces. It was like looking at a photo--except for the color. They were both filled in with swirling reds and oranges, as though filled with fire.

 

“Wow, that is _really_ cool,” Laura breathed.

 

For a few minutes Laura let herself get distracted just looking at the paintings. Laura didn’t see a single dot of black or grey in any of them; every single canvas was completely covered in a insane kaleidoscope of colors. Some of them weren’t even subjects; she just splattered the canvas with paint.

 

And, in the corner in red, were always two cursive letters:   _CK._

Laura was about to go find the gallery owner, and hopefully the artist herself, when she realized people had started to clap. Laura tore her eyes away from another painting and saw that someone had walked in.

 

The best way Laura could describe her outfit was ‘sexy Parisian’. She wore a red beret, and large black sunglasses; her crop top was black and white striped; she wore a red skirt that was just a little too short to be modest. She looked around the gallery with a bored expression, before flashing a cocky smile at the attention she was receiving at her entrance and then walking toward an old man in suit and tie.

 

“Mr. Vordenberg, thanks for hosting this,” she said, shaking his hand.

 

“Thank you, Carmilla! I could not be more honored to showcase your work at my gallery opening. It almost makes me glad my numerous romances never quite worked out…”

 

“Yeah,” she looked like she wanted to get away from him as soon as possible; the hello was a necessary formality, apparently. Laura figured, if this was the artist, she might as well rescue her and get the interview. She waved, getting Carmilla’s attention. She raised an eyebrow in Laura’s direction.

 

“...Excuse me, Mr. Vordenberg, but I have to go.”

 

She got away from him, crossing her arms.

 

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why did you wave me over?”

 

“I’m a reporter for the Silas Siren.”

 

“ _Oh,_ an interview,” Carmilla flashed another smile. “Well, I can’t say no to attention.”

 

She was already rubbing Laura the wrong way. She was also very, very hot. Laura decided they cancelled each other out so she forced herself not to roll her eyes.

 

“Laura Hollis,” she said, holding out a free hand.

 

“Carmilla Karnstein, artistic genius,” she answered, giving her hand a quick shake before looking at the swirling vortex of colors hanging on the wall next to them. “Enjoying the art?”

 

“Well--I mean--yeah,” Laura admitted. She was loathe to add onto Carmilla’s obvious ego, but it was the truth. “Your use of color is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it. Um…” Laura turned on her tape recorder. “Any particular reason you chose this style?”

 

Carmilla leaned against the wall. “Honestly? I wanted to remind people why soulmates are overrated.”

 

“Seriously…?”

 

“Completely. Notice no one here is over the age of thirty. Come on,” she looked fondly at one of her paintings, “you have to admit you would miss being able to see all of this.”

 

“I’d rather have true love, thanks,” Laura answered dryly. Carmilla snorted.

 

“ _Please._ That’s the attitude I’m talking about. I’m giving us single ladies something we can have over those people.”

 

Laura bit her lip. It wouldn’t be right to antagonize the person she was supposed to interview. She swallowed her instincts telling her to fire back and turned back to one of Carmilla’s paintings.

 

“So...tell me about your process, I guess.”

 

“That depends.”

 

“On?”

 

“Well, if it’s the regular stuff, it kind of just comes to me--oh hey, thanks,” Carmilla grabbed a glass of champagne from someone holding a tray as he walked past them. She took a sip. “Anyway, if it’s the regular stuff, I just pick something. Then I add a shit load of color to it. Hard to explain _how_ I do it so well, you know? Just have the gift.”

 

Laura nodded. “Uh huh. What about the abstract pieces?”

 

Carmilla grinned. “Oh, those?” She walked past Laura, lightly placing her fingertips against one of the paintings. “You mean like these?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“I have sex.”

 

Laura made a strangled noise, causing several passerby to look in her direction. Carmilla took an innocent sip of her glass.

 

“You okay?”

 

“I--just--that’s kind of--blunt,” Laura finished flatly. Carmilla shrugged.

 

“It’s the truth. I have sex. Then I make a painting about it. Just the way my mind works.”

 

“So...these abstract paintings are, basically, a diary of your one night stands.”

 

“If you want to think about it that way.”

 

Laura wrinkled her nose. “That’s kind of gross.”

 

“It’s the creative process,” Carmilla said, obviously enjoying how uncomfortable Laura looked.

 

Laura couldn’t help herself; Carmilla was hedonistic, she was kind of irreverent, but she _was_ interesting. Laura followed Carmilla, looking at the painting.

 

“Are purples and blues a good thing?”

 

“Eh. Not great. As you can imagine, it’s the _red_ ones that are really nice. You know, it’s funny. I can’t remember any of their names, but as soon as I look at their painting? I know exactly what they all looked like.”

 

Laura couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose again; it was like reporting a car wreck. As distasteful as Carmilla was, Laura didn’t want to look away...among other reasons.

 

“Aren’t you worried…?” Laura asked.

 

“About what?” Carmilla asked, appraising her own painting.

 

“You know. What if you pick some girl up and kiss, but it turns out…” Laura gestured vaguely. Carmilla laughed.

 

“What? Oh, fuck _no._ I’m careful. I choose my targets very carefully.”

 

“‘Targets?’ Like, what exactly do you look for in your ‘targets?’”

 

Carmilla hummed a little in thought before answering, “I get to know them first. I don’t pick up girls I _like,_ I pick up girls that are _hot._ You don’t need to like someone to be good in bed with them.”

 

There was a subtle change in Carmilla that Laura noticed. Her stance opened up slightly; she dropped the champagne glass (after draining it in one gulp) into a trashcan next to her; Laura winced until she realized whatever was in the trash kept the glass from breaking. She looked Laura up and down for a moment before taking a step closer.

 

“You know what kind of girls I’m _not_ into?” Carmilla asked.

 

“Um...I mean, I don’t know if that can go in my article,” Laura answered, swallowing.

 

“Well, why don’t you listen and decide for yourself.”

 

Carmilla didn’t wait for Laura to answer.

 

“My soulmate will most definitely _not_ be judgemental. She will not have a stick up her ass. She will not be a sentimental little sugary sweet  cupcake.”

 

As she spoke she moved closer to Laura; she was painfully aware of how Carmilla was so close their bodies were brushing.

 

“Are you...are you _hitting on me_ by telling me I’m _not_ your type?”

 

Carmilla’s grin only widened. She lifted her sunglasses with a finger, and Laura was staring right into her almost black eyes.

 

“I mean, _physically_ you’re my type. You’ve got a pretty tight body--Laura, right?”

 

“Yeah…” Laura was aware that her breathing had become kind of shallow; she counted back from ten in her mind. She...she wasn’t seriously considering this, was she? “But, uh, no _thank you._ ”

 

“Are you sure?” Carmilla’s smile grew even wider. “Because you’re admiring me more than the artwork right now, sweetheart.”

 

Laura tore her eyes away from the exposed skin of Carmilla’s stomach, looking down at the floor. “Give me one good reason why I should not throw something in your face and storm out,” Laura grumbled.

 

She moved even closer and leaned in to whisper in Laura’s ear. “What, you don’t think it’s kind of hot? You and me together...you _know_ I’ll be good in bed. I’ve had practice and then…” Carmilla lowered her voice to a purr, “when we’re done I’ll sit at my easel and paint--maybe I’ll even hang the picture up in this gallery. And every time either of us look at it we will remember every...single...detail…”

 

Laura should not have been tempted. She really, _really_ should not have been tempted. But there was something about Carmilla’s outfit and the voice and some combination of both...and God Laura had to be honest with herself, the painting thing _did_ make her kind of hot. The point was, she could feel herself heating up.

 

This was a really, really bad idea and--

 

“Only if we go to your place,” Laura blurted out, “and we need to have an exclusive interview afterward.”

 

\--she was totally going through with it because she was weak and Carmilla was very, very hot.

* * *

 

The cab ride was possibly the most awkward thing Laura had ever experienced. They sat as far from each other as possible--not for Carmilla’s lack of trying, she had her hand on Laura’s thigh anyway. And she was smirking like a smug little asshole.

 

_I am about to have sex with a famous artist. I am about to have meaningless sex with a famous artist. I am about to have--_

 

“Cupcake?”

 

Laura was snapped out of her shame fueled daydream to look at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

 

“We’re here.”

 

“Right. Right. We’re here. For the sex.”

 

Carmilla grinned at the cabdriver. “That’s right.”

They got out, and they fell into silence again as they walked into the apartment building.

 

“Where do you live?” Laura asked.

 

“Penthouse,” Carmilla answered; they got in the elevator, rode it to the top, and stepped through the first door they came to.

 

Well, if Laura was going to be a cheap one night stand, at least she was going to do it in a nice apart--

 

“...There’s like, barely anything in here and-- _whoa_.”

 

There was a table, a couch, and an easel where the TV would have probably been. But otherwise? No furniture. At least not in the main area. But Carmilla had painted artwork all over the walls of the apartment. Every inch of it was covered in colorful, swirling patterns.

 

“I don’t like a lot of clutter. It messes with my flow.”

 

“Well, it has a lot of light with the windows, at least--”

 

“Are we really going to make smalltalk or are we going to do this?”

 

Laura flushed. Carmilla looked at her pointedly; she licked her lips for a brief moment, then sighed.

 

“Look, if you don’t want to go through with this, that’s fine.”

 

She said it so casually, without any hint of teasing or judging, that Laura relaxed a little. Why was she putting pressure on herself? They were two consenting adults. No one else had to know they ever did this. Laura got to live with the knowledge that she slept with a celebrity and inspired a painting that would probably sell for like a gazillion dollars.

 

“No. No, it’s fine. Let’s do this. I mean, I still don’t really like you that much, but...that’s a good thing, right? For you especially?”

 

“Yeah, you’re still kind of annoying me right now--” Carmilla grabbed Laura’s shoulders, spinning her to pin her against the wall, “so we should probably _shut up_.”

 

Laura nodded quickly before Carmilla surged forward to kiss her, biting at her bottom lip. She returned the kiss quickly--and wow, Carmilla _was_ good at this--

Until Laura clutched her head and felt like her eyeballs were being ripped out. Carmilla followed suit.

 

“What the _fuck?”_

 

“Ow, ow, _ow,_ what--”

 

Almost as soon as it began, it was over. Laura blinked a few times. Her heart started to beat faster when she realized what happened. Carmilla’s hat? Grey. Her skirt? Grey. Laura looked around her. Grey, black, grey, black.

 

“Oh. My. _Slytherin._ Carmilla I cannot believe I’m saying this but I think we’re--”

 

Laura stopped. Carmilla was looking around her, hands balled into fists, jaw clenched. When she looked at Laura, it made her want to run.

  
“Get. The fuck. _Out._ ”

 

“Carmilla, I’m sorry, I didn’t know--”

 

“I never want to see your face again. _Get out._ ”

 

Laura didn’t exactly blame Carmilla for her reaction, all things considered. So Laura grabbed her purse that she’d dropped on the floor, smoothed down her hair, and trudged out. She thought she heard a noise like something was being hit or thrown, but decided it was best not to question it.

* * *

 

The moment Laura walked out, Carmilla kept rubbing at her eyes, as if she could force the color back into them. But nothing.

 

She should have known all of the sleeping around would catch up with her eventually. But in what universe was _that girl_ her match? How could she be her soulmate? Of course Carmilla didn’t expect anything to happen. She took one look at her in her business-y little uniform and knew she wasn’t going to be the one.

 

All she wanted was to get a little inspiration for her next painting and, instead, her career was ruined forever.

Carmilla took one last long glance around the walls of her apartment. She’d never stopped painting since she’d moved in. Whenever she had free time she would take a brush and just start with brush strokes with no rhyme or reason to them. They were random bursts of color, and most importantly, they were _her._

 

Except now they were a muddled, grey and black mess. That wasn’t Carmilla.

 

“Just... _fuck!”_ She slammed her hand against the wall in frustration. She didn’t even get to say goodbye. It wasn’t some gradual thing. One second everything was a kaleidoscope of color; the next, nothing. How could people romanticize that? How could anyone _want_ that?

 

And for Carmilla--who was born holding a pencil, who drew on the margins of her notebook instead of studying, who lived for what she did--how could she _live_ like that?

 

She didn’t know. And she was not looking forward to finding out.

 

Carmilla crossed her arms, biting her lip hard and looking around her. Her eyes lingered on her easel. Slowly, she walked over. She pulled out the little drawer attached to the wooden frame, grabbing her watercolor palette.

 

She looked at the blank canvas in front of her. Then down at the palette, now a subtle gradient of white to black.

 

Carmilla just...couldn’t bring herself to do anything. She stared at the canvas so long that she realized there was no light streaming in from the windows anymore. Carmilla sighed, put her palette and brush away, and walked into her bedroom to collapse into her now colorless bed.

* * *

 

Carmilla had no idea how long she stayed in her apartment. The truth was she just felt... _lost._ She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to brood over her ruined career.

 

She still tried to paint. But there was no enjoyment in it anymore. Slapping paint on a canvas, not knowing what it actually looked like, was not fun. And Carmilla was sure her stuff sucked now.

 

She turned her cell phone off; the same number kept trying to call her. Carmilla had a feeling she knew who was trying to call her. And if there was one thing Carmilla was sure of, it was that she never wanted to talk to that Laura girl again. She didn’t care what the universe said; her soulmate was her art, and Carmilla had had it stolen from her.

 

Carmilla was in the middle of trying to sketch something in pencil-- _anything_ in pencil--when she heard a knock on the door.

 

“...Miss Karnstein?”

 

Carmilla ignored it.

 

“Carmilla.”

 

She still ignored it.

 

“Carmilla, open this door! I have tried to call you; now I’m here. Open. This. Door.”

 

“Go away, Creampuff,” Carmilla finally answered.

 

“...Fine. Then I guess I’ll wait.”

 

She heard a _thump_ as Laura sat down in a huff. Carmilla rolled her eyes. As if she couldn’t wait Laura out. She had a fridge full of food and a heart full of spite.

 

“Do your worst Cupcake; I can wait you out.”

 

She grabbed her laptop, switched to Netflix, and was about to start her second episode of Jessica Jones when she got a phone call. She was too distracted by the recent turn of events to remember that she was specifically avoiding human interaction.

 

“...Red, why the hell are you calling?”

 

“Shit, Carmilla, where have you _been?”_ Danny gasped on the other end of the phone.

 

“What do you mean…?”

 

“You haven’t answered your phone for three days. I was about to go to your apartment.”

 

“I’ve got enough people trying to get into my apartment right now, thank you.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean..?”

 

“You know, just a,” Carmilla raised her voice specifically so Laura would hear, “CRAZY STALKER FAN.”

 

“You’re lucky I can’t see colors anymore, because I would be seeing red! Now LET ME IN!”

 

“...Do you want me to help you get rid of her…?”

 

“Naw. She’ll go away on her own. Even stalkers have to eat.”

 

“You underestimate me!” Laura called out again.

 

“Carmilla, is something going on?”

 

“No, Danny, just--okay, can I call you back? Or maybe not? Point is I’m alive.”

 

“Did she just yell something about not being able to see in color though--”

 

“GOODBYE.”

 

Carmilla hung up. And promptly wrinkled her nose.

 

“What is that smell…? _Pizza?_ You fucking ordered _pizza?”_

 

Carmilla got up and walked toward the door.

 

“With garlic knots!” Laura exclaimed, “want some? Told you I could be here for awhile.”

 

The pizza smelled good. _Really good._ And Carmilla hadn’t eaten much. But she wasn’t about to compromise her principles for pizza.

 

“For the record, it’s meatball,” Laura continued.

 

“...Slide a slice under the door for me.”

 

“Ew! _No._ Either open the door, or no pizza.”

 

“See, this is why I think soulmates are fucking overrated,” Carmilla grumbled. She opened the door a crack.

 

“Okay. Hand me one.”

 

“ _Wider._ ”

 

She listened.

 

“Now?”

 

“Holy Hufflepuff, Carmilla, you _know_ what I want. Let me _in._ ”

 

Carmilla’s jaw clenched. “Fucking _fine._ But as soon as I finish you’re back out.”

 

Laura stumbled into the room when Carmilla opened the door; she had been leaning against it, apparently. Carmilla grabbed the pizza box and garlic knots, kicked the door closed, sat down on the couch, and started eating as fast as she could.

 

“Okay, start talking.”

 

Laura took a deep breath.

 

“Okay Carmilla I’m really sorry I ruined your painting and everything, I know it must have been really important to you and you were super talented, so it must be a huge deal. I’ve been trying to call you for days to apologize--even though, you know, I’m not exactly _thrilled_ with you being my soulmate either, I didn’t want this to happen--point is, you have been avoiding me. And I get it. You’re angry. But I thought maybe...I kind of brought you something?”

 

“Pizza isn’t going to help, Cupcake.”

 

“ _No._ See?” Laura held up a small, plain metal case. Carmilla raised an eyebrow.

 

“Okay…?” Carmilla held out her arms. Laura handed the case to her. Carmilla unlatched it, opened it, and stared.

 

Pencils.

 

A whole set of pencils. Carmilla looked back up at Laura silently. Laura tugged at the collar of her owl sweater.

 

“They’re charcoal pencils,” Laura explained, “I thought...I don’t know. I know it must be hard to do watercolors anymore. I don’t know you very well, but...you are so talented. Maybe...you know...you could try drawing with these instead? You don’t need to see in color to do that. They look the same whether you have a soulmate or not.”

 

Laura smiled sheepishly. Carmilla stuffed a garlic knot in her mouth to avoid saying anything. She spent a moment trying to swallow the chewy dough before she looked at her again.

 

“...You want to know the real reason I’ve dedicated my life to watercolors, Cupcake?”

 

Laura’s eyes widened. “Oh. Um...sure?”

 

Carmilla took the pizza box, put it on the floor. She kept the case of pencils in her lap.

 

“When I was a junior in highschool, I fell in love with my best friend.”

 

She was thankful that Laura wouldn’t notice how red Carmilla must have been turning.

 

“Oh. Um. Wow. Okay.” Confused, Laura sat cross legged on the floor, looking up at Carmilla.

 

“Her name was Ell. We’d both been pretty obviously in love for awhile. So I ditched some dumb jock that took me to prom and I kissed her instead. Except…”

 

“Except you guys weren’t soulmates.”

 

“Exactly. We didn’t know what to do. We didn’t suddenly stop loving each other because the universe said we weren’t soulmates. So I told Ell ‘you know what? Fuck this. Fuck the universe. No one decides who our soulmates are but us.’ And it worked for a few years. We were happy.”

 

She leaned back farther into the couch, metal case still resting on her knees. Carmilla crossed her arms.

 

“And the painting…?” Laura asked, coaxing Carmilla gently.

 

“Yeah,” Carmilla was looking up at the ceiling. “I’d always been good at it. I decided we didn’t need to be less of a couple, you know? I thought ‘we could have this. We could have something no one else gets to have’. So I got obsessed with painting. I painted for her. I painted abstracts, I painted her, I painted murals on the wall of her room. We both dressed in _outrageously_ colorful clothes... _God,_ we looked like we went back in time and bought all our stuff from the 80s.,.”

She couldn’t help smiling a little at it. “And that became our thing. Color. Everyone thought we were crazy, but we didn’t care. Plus, as it turns out, painting in watercolor obsessively for years makes you pretty fucking awesome at it.”

 

“Okay. So what happened?”

 

Carmilla looked back at Laura, frowning. Laura raised her shoulders slightly.

 

“Sorry. Journalistic curiosity. I like to get straight to the point.”

 

“...Ell met her soulmate,” Carmilla grumbled, “and she was always the type to play it safe.”

 

“Oh my God. She _cheated on you?_ And then that girl was her soulmate? Oh my gosh that is horrible. I am so sorry that is just evil and you know what I should probably stop talking you know--” Laura shut up.

 

“It was pretty awful. And I got over it. But you’ll _excuse me_ if I think the whole being in love thing is kind of pointless. I don’t care what anyone says. I won’t love anyone the way I loved Ell. It didn’t work out. But at least I got some awesome painting out of it.”

 

Laura regarded Carmilla seriously for a moment before she stated: “So you’re not over your ex. Is that it? You’re heartbroken over Ell so you keep painting to remind yourself of when you guys were together?”

 

Carmilla glared at Laura, closing the metal case. “...The painting was just a huge part of my life,” she finally answered, “now you get it, okay? Get out of my apartment. It’s not...it’s not that my career was ruined, okay? I can probably make great charcoal paintings. That _isn’t the point._ ”

 

Laura bit her lip. She stood up.

 

“...You can keep the food,” Laura said softly, “look, I’m kind of a romantic, okay? I had to at least try. I’m sorry.”

 

She started to walk to the door, but added, “I work for the Silas Siren, so you know where to ask around if you want to find me.”

 

Carmilla grabbed another garlic knot and shoved it into her mouth, watching Laura leave.

 

She ate eight slices of pizza. _Eight slices._ Carmilla was sure she was going to regret it in the morning. But she would rather eat than think about what happened.

 

When she was out of food, Carmilla looked back down at her charcoal pencils.

 

“...Eh, what the hell.”

 

Carmilla picked them up, and walked over to her canvas. She bit her lip, tilting her head slightly to the side.

 

What the hell was she supposed to draw now?

 

She took a pencil, making a sweep down the canvas. Okay. Now what. Carmilla had never had to deal with an art block before.

 

“Fuck, Carmilla, just _clear your mind,_ ” she mumbled to herself.

 

She stared. She let herself get lost in the white of the canvas. Biting her lip and furrowing her brow, Carmilla decided to do what she did best; she let her intuition guide her. No thinking. Just drawing. Before she could consider what to do, Carmilla let her pencil glide across the canvas.

 

Carmilla felt her muscles start to relax as she worked; first in broad strokes, then filling in details. When she finally finished, she looked at the picture.

 

“Fucking _hell,_ really?”

 

It was Laura. She fucking drew Laura. Carmilla grabbed the canvas, threw it onto the couch, and placed another on the easel.

 

She was not going to let her work be tainted by Laura. That wasn’t why she was an artist. She meant what she had said at the art gallery; these paintings were for people who were alone, like her. These paintings were so people remembered that there was more to life than waiting to find someone you might never meet. Carmilla was not painting for old men and women. She was not reducing her work to black and white, lifeless charcoal and lead.

 

Carmilla looked back down at her palette.

 

“You know what? _Fuck the universe.”_

 

She’d only been color blind for a few days. She still remembered what colors looked like and, if she closed her eyes, she could picture them. And she knew where they were on her palette; she’d never thought about it, but she could tell the subtle differences in gradients.

 

Carmilla closed her eyes. She remembered the color of Laura’s hair. Light brown.

 

Maybe she couldn’t appreciate her own work anymore. But the people she painted for could. And Carmilla was not going to let this stop her.

 

She dipped her brush into her palette, gritted her teeth, and began to paint.

* * *

 

Laura wanted to tell her boss that she didn’t want to cover the story, but what was she supposed to say? _Sorry, I decided to have sex with Carmilla instead of interviewing her and now I’m colorblind!_

 

Yeah, no. First of all, she still felt kind of guilty for what she did. Yes, it was not Laura’s fault. She certainly didn’t _want_ some egotistical, pretentious artist as her soulmate. But kissing her was still what ruined Carmilla’s career. The last thing Laura wanted to do was embarrass her by letting that get out, as much as keeping the secret was _killing her._ Besides, what Laura did was wildly unprofessional anyway.

 

Secondly...well, she was basically there just to do the art stuff. If they knew Laura was colorblind and making up all of her ‘art critiques’ for the past few weeks, she could very well lose her job. Or at least get stuck in something really boring like writing obituaries or, God forbid, _sports._

 

It didn’t help that it was another story involving Carmilla. The Silas Museum of Modern Art was doing a showcase of Carmilla’s stuff. Laura’s plan was to avoid Carmilla if she showed up, focus on interviewing her friend Perry (she worked there and was responsible for collecting pieces for the museum) and leave as soon as possible.

 

This time Laura knew to dress up; and yes, she was a little wobbly in heels, but she felt pretty good about herself when she walked in wearing her favorite black dress. Her eyes scanned the crowd for the familiar head of curls.

 

“Hey! Hey, Perry!” Laura waved. Perry turned in the middle of her conversation, made excuses, and walked over to give Laura a hug.

 

“Laura, honey, hi! Thank you for coming.”

 

“I mean, it’s kind of my job--but I would have anyway,” Laura added. Perry clapped her hands together excitedly.

 

“Oh, Laura, I’ve been looking forward to showing you this exhibit! It’s a little...peculiar.”

 

“‘Peculiar?’”

 

“Let me show you, I think you’ll agree.”

 

“Okay…” Laura frowned a little in confusion, weaving through the crowd with Perry. When they walked into the room with Carmilla’s paintings, Perry grabbed Laura’s hand and led her to the back wall.

 

“Tell me if this painting looks familiar.”

 

“I don’t get-- _whoa._ Is that…?”

 

It was a portrait. Of _her._ Or, at least Laura could swear it was her. It looked exactly like her. And...Laura couldn’t help but notice...it looked like it was drawn with charcoal. Each line was dark and hard, unlike the slightly sketchy, light shapes in the work Laura had seen the first time she’d met Carmilla.

 

“It certainly looks like you. It’s just titled ‘The Girl’.”

 

“What did she say when you asked about it?”

 

“She said she didn’t base it off of anyone.”

 

“That is _totally_ me.”

 

“I thought so too! It looks just like you! I have to say, the paintings she gave me for the exhibit are a lot different from her other works. I’ve never seen her combine charcoal and watercolor before--”

 

“ _Wait._ This painting is in color? How do you know?”

 

“...Laura, you know I haven’t met my soulmate, right? Believe me, that is in color. Beautiful use of color, too. Which is standard on a Carmilla Karnstein painting.”

 

Right. Perry and LaFontaine were so close Laura forgot sometimes that they hadn’t kissed yet. Even though it was kind of obvious.

 

But, if Carmilla painted a portrait of her...then she was still painting in color…?

 

“...Hey.”

 

Laura spun around to stare at Carmilla. “Hey,” she squeaked.

 

She was wearing a corset and leather pants. No more sexy Parisian. But Laura wasn’t exactly complaining.

 

“Can you give us a moment?” Carmilla asked, looking at Perry, “I’d like to get my interview with the reporter over with.”

 

“Right. Right. See you Perry.”

 

Perry looked between them before, hesitantly, walking away. “Okay...I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

 

“Right.” Laura answered. She stared at Carmilla. Carmilla stared back. Laura couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

 

“So, you made a beeline for the portrait, huh? Bit narcissistic.”

 

Laura huffed. “So you _admit_ you drew a portrait of me! You told Perry the portrait wasn’t based off anyone!”

 

“Technically it’s not,” Carmilla said with a smirk, “it’s not _based_ off of you, it _is_ you. I thought I did pretty well after a couple of tries. What do you think? I’m going through my mixed-media period. Figured if you bought me a nice set of charcoals I might as well experiment.”

 

Laura chewed the inside of her cheek. “I mean...it’s cool, I guess. But...how do you paint with colors if you can’t see them?”

 

“How did Beethoven compose his symphonies when he was deaf?”

 

Laura said nothing.

 

“...I’m persistent as fuck, Cupcake. And stubborn as an ox.”

 

“Oh. Well...I’m...glad you managed to still paint even though I kind of ruined your sight. I’ll stay out of your way.”

 

Laura walked away, ready to join Perry, when Carmilla grabbed her wrist.

 

“Cupcake--Laura--wait.”

 

Laura stopped and, slowly, looked back. “What?”

 

“I--okay, this is very hard for me to do--but I wanted--”

 

“Okay…?”

 

“ _Jesus,_ Laura, I want to _thank you._ ”

 

“ _Thank me?_ I thought I ruined your life!”

 

Carmilla made a sweeping gesture around the room. “I thought so too. But look at all of these paintings. How long has it been since all of this happened? Three weeks? Laura, I painted all of this in _three weeks._ ”

 

Laura sucked in a breath. There were a _lot_ of paintings. “You _did?”_

 

“Yes. I haven’t been able to stop. I mean...when you left I felt like I would never know what to paint again. And then I just started drawing. And then I thought ‘you know what, fuck this, I’m going to use colors anyway’. I don’t know what happened. But I’ve never felt so inspired. It’s like...having to remember the colors, focusing on shapes and form and contrast so I can actually _enjoy_ what I’m looking at...my art has gotten _better._ ”

 

Laura looked at the paintings hanging on the walls around them. It was true. Her old paintings were a muddy, grey and black puddle when Laura had looked at them after that night at Carmilla’s apartment. But these paintings? They were full of contrast. The colors were in blocks instead of running together. It made everything look stronger, almost powerful.

 

She was sure if she could see color they would be bright and bold, just like Carmilla’s old ones. But everyone could appreciate these.

 

“...I like them. You have something for everyone now, I guess.”

 

“If you want to think about it that way.”

 

“Still thinking having a soulmate ruined your career?” Laura asked teasingly. Carmilla raised an eyebrow at her.

 

Then her face stretched into a wicked grin.

 

“No. And it’s about to make it even better.”

 

Before Laura could ask what she meant, Carmilla grabbed Laura’s hand and raised her voice.

 

“Attention, everyone! The artist is speaking!”

 

There was a ripple of murmurs through the crowd before Carmilla continued.

 

“Thank you all for coming to my exhibit. But as great as my art is, I’m about to impress you all _even more._ ”

 

Laura rolled her eyes.

 

“Let it be known that I, Carmilla Karnstein, am painting watercolors--” She raised Laura’s hand to the air, “ _while colorblind!”_

 

She kissed Laura’s hand, keeping it raised in the air triumphantly. Laura’s mouth dropped open.

 

“What the _hell,_ Carmilla?”

 

“I thought you were a _romantic._ I thought you would appreciate a grand, romantic gesture.”

 

“...So you want there to be romance involved…?”

 

“That remains to be seen, but I wouldn’t mind keeping you in my life for a little longer. You make a pretty fantastic muse.”

 

Laura couldn’t help smiling--and became acutely aware of all of the other reporters flashing cameras and asking questions.

 

“Laura!” Perry shoved her way through the crowd, “you can’t seriously mean that this woman…”

 

“Better believe it, Curly,” Carmilla said smugly, “come on Cupcake, let’s get out of here.”

 

“No questions!” Laura shouted as Carmilla dragged her out through an emergency exit. As soon as their feet hit the sidewalk, Laura grabbed her tiny notebook from her pocket.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Do you _realize_ what a humongous story this is? I need to go home and break it before one of them do!”

 

She started scribbling furiously in her notebook and Carmilla started to laugh.

 

“Wow, that’s great. You just ran out with your soulmate, and your first thought is ‘I gotta do my work’.”

 

Laura looked at Carmilla. “...You know, I have colored pencils.”

 

“Okay…?”

 

“And an apartment with lots of empty, white walls.”

 

Carmilla smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

 

It was Laura’s turn to grab Carmilla’s hand. “Come on. Let’s, um…” She decided to go for broke. She leaned in and gave Carmilla a quick kiss on the lips. “...Go?”

 

“Yeah...let’s go.”

 

Laura smiled. She may have been colorblind, but even she could tell Carmilla was blushing.  

 

“...You know what’s funny?” Carmilla asked as they walked.

 

“What?”

 

“I really like the color of your eyes. They’re grey. But...a different shade of grey. I don’t know. It’s weird.”

 

Laura squeezed Carmilla’s hand a little tighter. “It’s not weird. I kind of get what you mean?”

  
Color, no color, it didn’t matter. Carmilla’s eyes were still Carmilla’s eyes. Her hair was still her hair--which was practically black anyway.

 

And, when Carmilla stole another kiss from Laura while they waited to cross the street, neither of them felt like they were missing out on anything.

 


End file.
